A Headache Worth the Trouble
by mew-tsubaki
Summary: Oneshot, slash. If there's one person not to worry about on their team, Onaga is it. Or so Washio thought. [WashioOnaga]


**A Headache Worth the Trouble**

A Haikyuu! oneshot

by mew-tsubaki

Note: The _Haikyuu!_ characters belong to Furudate Haruichi-sensei, not to me. A quick Washinaga inspired by real life. :P Read, review, and enjoy!

\- ^-^3

"It almost seems easy from here on out," Bokuto chirped as he and his teammates stretched and warmed up for afternoon practice. Outside, the weather was pleasant for a November evening, meaning it wasn't yet too warm inside the gym to make club activities unbearably stuffy.

That said, Konoha, Sarukui, and Komi settled Bokuto with a withering look as if they wished there were snow outside into which they could shove their captain. "'Easy'?" Konoha echoed. " _'Easy'_?!"

Washio didn't blame the blond for the incredulity in his tone. This was one time when he didn't appreciate Bokuto's optimism, either. He even frowned at their charismatic leader.

Bokuto stared at the other third-year regulars. "What? I mean, Sakusa still pisses me off"—he clenched his fists at the mention of Itachiyama's formidable wing spiker—"but, guys, we're _going to Tokyo_."

At that, Sarukui snorted, and a mix of chuckles and genuine laughter erupted from the rest of the third years and even all of the underclassmen. Off by the main doors with Yamiji-sensei, Suzumeda was trying to hide her amusement while Shirofuku held her sides, she laughed so hard. And, beside Washio, polite Onaga grinned and laughed, as well.

Konoha shook his head and scoffed, a smirk still on his fair face. "You doof. We're _in_ Tokyo. You mean we're going to Nationals."

Bokuto reddened at his slip-up. He whipped his head to his right, since Akaashi stood at his shoulder. "Akaashi! _You_ understood what I meant, right?!"

"I'm a bit scared of what the Spring High will look like," Onaga murmured to Washio as they turned away from the distraction and stretched their legs.

Washio cocked his head to one side. "You've had some experience being on the court with Bokuto now," he pointed out. He glanced up at the younger boy who was even taller than Washio himself. Such a rare thing for Washio to encounter, and he still enjoyed it, since the school year had begun and more so since they'd started going out nearly two months ago.

Onaga reddened under Washio's gaze. "…Washio-senpai, you're staring."

The older teen coughed and tore his eyes away. "My bad." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Onaga fight down a tiny smile.

Once everyone was considered ready, first up on today's task was serve practice. Since Fukurodani had one of the larger teams in the Tokyo area, both managers as well as both liberoes—Komi and the first-year reserve, Tsubasa—headed off alternating columns of four, two lines on each side of the net, giving the rest of the players plenty of room for running starts.

Washio got in line in the second column, behind Sarukui. To his left, Bokuto practiced a slower approach and smacked a volleyball in an attempt at a jump-float serve, which wasn't bad, per se, but lacked Bokuto's usual strength. On the other hand, to Washio's right, some of the second years went ahead of Onaga and showed off weak serves that frankly didn't represent Fukurodani's powerhouse status at all.

The third-year starting middle blocker returned his attention to his own serve when Suzumeda tossed him a ball. He exhaled, though not as dramatically as Bokuto or that second year, Kamui, did. With one foot directly in front of the other, Washio took a small sprint, threw the ball up, and sent the volleyball sailing over the net with more spin than he intended. His serve hit the floor on the opposite side with an encouraging thud, though.

As he turned to head to the back of the line, Washio kept an eye on Onaga's form as the younger boy took his turn. Oddly, Onaga's approach faltered, and he swung early, before the ball fell from its apex. His thin fingers grazed the volleyball's bottom, but everything about his serve was off. The ball flew but not very far; it dropped like a dead weight in front of the net.

Onaga must've sensed Washio's eyes on him, because he locked eyes with his boyfriend and blushed. Washio smiled slightly and hoped Onaga felt reassured. The kid was finally used to being a regular player. Washio would hate it if his nervousness returned because he was no longer trying to impress all of his senpai but the person he liked.

Serving practice went on until everyone got ten in, and then Yamiji-sensei decided to up the intensity and switch gears to spiking. Fifteen were required for this, but that was mostly because spiking went faster than serving did.

The athletes kept their lines formed, the first and third on one side of the net and the second and fourth on the other side. Washio had to hand it to their coach; keeping them spiking while arranged like this demanded control. His wasn't bad, nor was Akaashi's or Kamui's. Konoha and Sarukui had the best control of all of them, plus Sarukui's spikes packed a punch. Bokuto's had the most strength, but he and some of the second years could use more practice when it came to accuracy. Fukurodani had had some luck helping at the Spring High prelims and even during the training camp with Nekoma and Karasuno and the others, because Bokuto's truly best spikes were, unfortunately, flukes, no matter what Bokuto told Hinata.

Despite the rapid-fire pace, Washio did spare a second to watch Onaga. However, Onaga's swings were weak. His spikes got over the net most of the time, but…barely.

Akaashi had cycled around in the same line as Onaga, with just two people between them, and he caught Washio's eye after studying Onaga's form. The setter furrowed his brow and tilted his head Washio's way. Clearly he wondered if this was news to Washio, too.

"Water break!" Yamiji-sensei called just as the last spike was hit, and the club members panted and heaved a collective sigh of relief. "If I call your name, I want another five spikes after you hydrate, and they better be perfect."

Uh-oh.

Konoha and Sarukui joined Washio as Shirofuku passed them water bottles, and Konoha raised his eyebrows. "Shit. That bad? He rarely uses the p-word."

"You'd think he'd been grabbing sake with Nekomata-sensei," Sarukui joked, but his genuine smile flattened, making his curled upper lip look like a squashed squiggle, as the first name called was Bokuto's. "Oh, for… Go figure."

"Hige," Yamiji-sensei continued, and the reedy first year winced hearing his name. "Mori. Ogasawara. Onaga. Tatejima. Yotaka." The coach exhaled when finished, and he rubbed his glasses' lens with the cuff of his sleeve as he waited for those named to get back on the court.

Konoha whistled lowly and raised his eyebrows at Washio. "Yeah, what's up with that? I thought Onaga was the golden child of the first years." He poked Washio in the chest with his water bottle. "Don't tell me you did something to him."

Washio spluttered and choked on a mouthful of water. "I _did not_ ," he hissed, though it took him a second to realize Konoha meant it as a joke. Occasionally, Washio wondered if letting their friends know about them were a good idea for him and Onaga. Then again, few secrets remained secrets in their circle.

"Strange, though," Sarukui added, and the three of them watched as the mix of seniors, juniors, and freshman lined up for their spikes. "Maybe he's coming down with a cold? It's that time of year."

Washio frowned but shrugged. Anything was possible. And a cold sounded plausible.

Despite Sarukui's suggestion, Washio couldn't bring himself to agree by the end of practice, and he motioned for Onaga to walk back to the clubroom with him after the gym was cleaned. Outside, he frowned at his fellow middle blocker and, realizing the light between buildings was poor, voiced his concern. "You were…off today, Onaga."

"Hmm? Oh, today… Yeah…" Onaga took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders as they approached the stairs to the clubroom. "I'm okay."

Washio paused on the bottom step and eyed Onaga over his shoulder.

Onaga's smile was tight. "I'll be okay," he amended.

Washio didn't move; there were a few people coming, but they were still a distance away, and no one exited the clubroom yet. "Are you under the weather?"

"It's just a bad headache."

Oh. That really wasn't anything. "Drink extra water," Washio told him as they resumed their climb.

"I know, I know. Coach said the same thing, and Suzumeda-senpai brought me an extra bottle after she noticed, too." He chuckled when they stopped outside the door and Washio lifted one eyebrow skeptically. "I promise, Washio-senpai." He rested a hand briefly on Washio's shoulder, an intimate gesture for two who hadn't done much beside hold hands or even nuzzle or kiss when absolutely no one else was around.

Washio leaned in to the touch for a second and then nodded. Konoha hadn't been far off, describing Onaga as the golden child of the first years. He was a good guy. And a sweet boyfriend. And Washio knew he deserved Washio's trust over this inconsequential matter.

\- ^-^3

Yet, after a few more practices with the same outcome, Washio wondered that maybe, in this case, Onaga needed to earn some trust first.

That first day, early in November, Washio would've categorized as a one-off. Afternoon practice two days later with another bad headache?

Onaga assured him it was nothing. "I'll just ask the managers to fill another extra bottle for me," he said during a short break, as if going through three water bottles for simple afternoon club activities were normal.

Another five days with headaches on and off?

"I probably haven't been eating enough," Onaga thought aloud as he and Washio walked to the train station to head home. The first year grinned. "I'll have Mom overfill my bento for tomorrow."

The worried part of Washio led his feet the next day to Onaga's homeroom at lunchtime, and Onaga was delighted Washio wanted to eat together. He happily chatted one-sidedly with his taciturn boyfriend while they ate, so Washio didn't regret all the glances he snuck at Onaga's bento which was, indeed, packed nearly twice as full as Washio imagined the container could even hold.

Still, the headaches persisted. By the time Fukurodani had its final November practice, Onaga had had over a dozen days of pain, though not necessarily consecutively. But Washio fretted, because they seemed to be worsening in intensity. He could tell by that last practice, because the worse a headache was, the harder Onaga tried to hide behind that big smile of his.

"Ah!" Onaga's exclamation was brief and not very loud. But it was hard to miss in the middle of a practice game between regulars and reserves. And everyone noticed when Onaga's jump cut short and he paused to catch his breath as well as hold his head.

Washio's eyes widened, and he lifted a hand, but he didn't want to touch Onaga in case he was in serious pain. "O—" he started.

"Onaga, out," Yamiji-sensei called from the sidelines. "Ogasawara, in."

Washio dropped his hand and clenched it in a fist at his side as Shirofuku jogged over and led Onaga off the court. He followed them with his eyes, ignoring the heavy-set second year who joined him.

But Yamiji-sensei was having none of it. He caught Washio's eye and grimaced, motioning with his chin to get back to the game.

The senior middle blocker faced the net, clutching his t-shirt over his stomach, which…was in knots. He vaguely nodded when Ogasawara gave him one of their signals, because Washio was used to teaming up with him. They'd been the regular blockers last year. Before Onaga.

When he could risk it without incurring their coach's ire, Washio occasionally peeked at Onaga, whom the girls took good care of off to the side for the rest of the night while Washio felt useless on the court.

He really hoped this year wouldn't finish out with Ogasawara back in front of the net with him.

\- ^-^3

"He should go home" came a very even tone at Washio's shoulder as soon as the latter closed his locker door in the clubroom.

The even cadence and black curls told Washio it was Akaashi without much more than a glance out of the corner of his eye. Washio zipped up his white track jacket and followed Akaashi's narrowed eyes to Onaga's back at the door. Onaga left for the gym with Kuroda in a fine mood, but Washio knew what Akaashi meant.

These days, Onaga looked tired and a little sick. His usual tan complexion was lighter than Washio's, but his skin was fairer now, pale almost like Konoha's. He was eating well and drank plenty of fluids and claimed he got enough sleep, but the headaches hadn't subsided.

"I know," Washio finally mumbled at his kouhai. He sensed more than saw the concern tinging the normally impassive features of their primary setter. "…I'll try talking to him again."

Akaashi nodded and followed him to the gym, and he cocked his head curiously in Washio's direction when they reached the double doors.

"I'm fine," Washio informed him, and Akaashi nodded again as practice began.

It was the truth, mostly. Washio wasn't ill at all. There wasn't a cold going around, otherwise more of their members would've caught it by now—plus, colds never showed themselves as extreme headaches…although, Washio thought he recalled a time when he was little and his mother had worked from home through a bad head cold that had come with crippling headaches… But that had been almost flu-like! And Onaga did not have the flu. Not to mention his parents deemed him fit to send to school every day.

Another day, another crap practice for Onaga who played but took it easy and spent more time on the sidelines with Shirofuku and Suzumeda than he did on the court with Washio and Sarukui by the net.

At this point, going home partway together afterwards had changed to Washio seeing Onaga home before hopping back on the train, mostly to ensure that Onaga _made_ it home. Plus, it gave Washio the chance to talk with him.

"You don't look well," he told the taller boy once it was quiet enough outside the station to hear each other.

Onaga smiled, but it was a small one. "I just need to take better care of myself," he said.

There was nothing in his voice that made Washio doubt Onaga's words. Washio eyed Onaga's profile as they traipsed the familiar streets to Onaga's neighborhood, and there was conviction in the set of his square jaw and the crinkle of his round eyes that he honestly meant to do as he said. He wasn't lying.

Onaga glanced down at Washio when they were a couple houses from his home. This time, when he smiled, the curve of his lips was slight but more genuine and didn't hide any pain in that moment. Either today's headache was done for now, or (and this was the scarier option, Washio decided) he was used to the pain and so could ignore it for a moment. "It's sweet of you to worry, Washio-senpai." He laughed softly, and this time he smiled brightly, open-mouthed and untamed. He leaned down and pecked Washio's forehead.

Washio stayed put, actually enjoying the way Onaga's lips lingered on his skin, though he felt a smidgen of guilt. When he backed away and looked Onaga in the eye, another question formed in his mind. "And you don't know why you've been getting these headaches?" he tried.

Onaga shook his head. He bumped Washio's shoulder with his when they reached the Onaga family nameplate. "See you tomorrow, Washio-senpai. Goodnight."

Washio wanted to say "goodnight," too. But, frankly, the word was caught in his throat, and he furrowed his brow, grimacing the entire way home.

\- ^-^3

Before December—hell, even before the _semester_ —was over, Washio had an answer at last.

Fukurodani had become accustomed to its modified lineup the past few weeks, with the usual cast of characters plus Ogasawara starting for the team. It wasn't bad, and Washio and Ogasawara _did_ have last year's signals going for them, but the chemistry wasn't quite right. Whenever Ogasawara's back was turned, Sarukui would make a face for the other third years to see, and Konoha's right eye twitched every time the blocky second year said something Konoha deemed "snotty."

The Spring High loomed before them, but even Bokuto had stopped calling things "easy from here on out."

As one of the last practices before the winter break wrapped up, Washio and Konoha gathered their things and openly watched Onaga, as Konoha phrased it, "being babied" by the managers.

"All right. He's not faking it, is he?" the blond asked, his sharp eyes squinting at Onaga.

Washio groaned. "Why would he?"

"Y'know. To get the girls' attention."

Washio didn't even raise an eyebrow at his friend. He stared at him with half-lidded eyes as if to say "I'm _right_ here."

Konoha snorted and shrugged. "Hey, I know you guys are dating, but we don't know for sure about Onaga. I don't mind. Bi is fly."

The gruff owl shook his head. Though Konoha probably meant his words, Washio also knew well that Konoha cared only if Onaga were looking to get Shirofuku's attention. His friend was so transparent, he might as well be classified as plastic wrap. "I don't think that's the case," he stated, and he abandoned Konoha to check on his boyfriend.

Shirofuku passed Onaga a square case—plastic, slim, for a CD or DVD—and said, "Don't worry about returning it anytime soon. I know you'll take care of it." When Washio's lips parted at the odd exchange, she smiled at him before he could speak. She even pushed a lock of her red hair behind her ear—strange. Washio didn't think he'd ever seen her showing her ears. "Have a safe trip home, you two," she cooed, though she was unusually loud as she said it.

Washio twisted his mouth around and tried peeking at whatever she'd given Onaga, but the other boy hid it by his side. Washio released a low, slow breath.

Onaga froze and timidly scuffed his sneaker on the floor. "It's a DVD."

He waited.

"Some research material."

"Research material."

"Yep." Onaga's grin was twitchy, and he marched for the door, though it wasn't any effort for Washio to keep up. Onaga's legs were slightly longer, proportionately, but their strides were about the same length.

"You're a first year, Onaga."

"I'm on the university track."

"Shirofuku's planning on university, last I knew, but she's not in an advanced class."

Onaga stopped short when they were halfway between the gym and the clubroom. His shoulders sank, but he held the item up to the light. In Shirofuku's tight but messy scrawl, the DVD read "Spring High Playoffs."

Washio didn't need further explanation to connect the dots. He clenched his jaw. "Please tell me that's the only DVD she's given you."

Onaga didn't answer. Instead, he sped for the clubroom. He probably didn't want to lie to Washio. Good thing, too. Washio had no doubt that Onaga Wataru was a terrible liar.

They entered the clubroom, which was half empty, and went to their respective lockers, and Washio was glad a row separated the third years' from the first years'. He seethed as he grabbed his things.

Sarukui poked his face around Washio's shoulder. "Hey, Washio—"

The taciturn teen slammed his locker door shut.

"Never mind," Sarukui amended, backing up with raised hands.

Washio looked around the second years' lockers and made a point of waiting for Onaga. The younger boy glanced at him but avoided his eyes. At least he followed Washio out of the clubroom.

Down the stairs, across the courtyard, past several blocks… Washio worried that they'd be on the train by the time he could voice his thoughts properly. At that point, there'd be no point in talking in a car full of strangers eavesdropping, and Washio wouldn't be able to get everything out on the short walk from the station to Onaga's house.

"Onaga," he finally growled when the station came into view.

His boyfriend pursed his lips.

"You don't need to study that DVD. Coach Yamiji has us review what we need to during practice and meetings." He paused and took a calming breath, though it was little help. He stared at his companion. "I mean it. You've been watching all the old games to prepare yourself for the Spring High, correct?"

Onaga tucked in his chin. His breath came out in small, white puffs by his nose while he stared at the ground. "…I didn't think you'd be so upset, Washio-senpai."

Washio frowned, and his anger lost steam the longer Onaga remained drawn in on himself. He touched Onaga's elbow. "I'm upset," he admitted. "But you don't need to review old games in detail and compare yourself. You're as prepared for a national stage as you could be. Your _health_ is important, Onaga. You won't be able to play on that stage with us, with me, if you don't get better. No more late nights staring at a computer or TV screen, pouring over old footage." He almost added that he both needed and _wanted_ Onaga by his side on the court…but that was too much to say, too much for right now.

"I understand."

The third year's tense shoulders relaxed.

"But this _is_ important. It means something to me."

Washio blinked. Was Onaga…putting his foot down on this matter?

Onaga raised his head, frowning. His eyes roved over Washio's face, taking in his boyfriend's surprise. "I know it sounds stupid…"

"I didn't say it was. I'm stunned," Washio corrected. Not that he considered himself someone to be stood up to, but Washio was impressed Onaga felt comfortable doing so already. Despite that, ideas churned strongly in his mind, and he gave Onaga's arm a squeeze before dropping his hand. "I…want to come over, see what you find important."

Interestingly, Onaga perked up hearing that, and some color returned to his cheeks even in the yellow–orange streetlights. He nodded, and they picked up the pace to head home.

Washio liked visiting Onaga's neighborhood, because it was closer to Washio's idea of a proper neighborhood, with pastel-colored houses upon neutral-hued houses upon stylized houses, and because Washio was accustomed to the stark white apartment building in which he'd grown up. But he'd yet to be inside Onaga's house, let alone meet his parents. And apparently that second action was still in the future, as Onaga opened the door and guided Washio upstairs without seeing them.

Still, his mother heard the front door open and close. "Wataru? Is that you?"

"Yep, I'll be down in a bit, I've got a friend over," Onaga called down.

"What?! Wataru, you can't just spring that on me—"

Washio raised his eyebrows and suddenly felt bad that he'd invited himself over, but Onaga gave no indication that they'd done wrong. Onaga pointed him to the first door on the left. Then the younger boy added, "I brought Washio-senpai over, and you can meet him at dinner."

"Oh! Why didn't you just say so?" Her laugh came through Onaga's bedroom door though he hurried to close it. Washio thought he heard a muffled "Keep that door open, Wataru!" too.

Onaga laughed nervously. "She's just, uh, just—a mom."

"Did you. Tell them about me?"

He laughed again, but he couldn't hide his gigantic smile. He offered to take Washio's bag, and he placed their things by the door. Then he gestured to his desk and specifically the laptop on it. He let Washio take the chair.

Washio didn't know how he felt about the sudden revelation that Onaga's parents knew about them, even in the slightest, but he turned his focus on the computer as Onaga booted it up and inserted the disc.

It played automatically, and it was, as Washio had presumed, old footage. Washio sighed, wondering what on Earth Onaga could find so appealing about this video. His eyes drifted from the screen to the other items Onaga had arranged neatly (extremely precisely, Washio corrected when he noted how book edges lined up exactly) on his desk. There were two dictionaries, a compact reference encyclopedia, notebooks, some magazines, two pencil tins— "Wait, there really are more DVDs?" he asked Onaga exasperatedly, and he reached for the top one.

"Yes," Onaga admitted, and he slumped where he leaned on the back of the chair, his forehead nearly touching Washio's shoulder.

"Various Spring Highs, summer camps, Golden Week camps, winter break marathons…" Washio sifted through them and looked at Onaga. "No wonder your headaches haven't gone away."

Onaga pouted and met his eyes, though turning his face Washio's way left little room between them, the older boy noted distractedly. "The managers have been good to me, getting me all of these recordings."

"Both of them?"

"Er, not to throw Suzumeda-senpai under the bus… But yes. I asked her for a couple…a little bit ago. She came through, but Shirofuku-senpai knew where more were, so they both passed DVDs along."

Something Shirofuku would have access to that Suzumeda wouldn't? Washio's eyes widened, and he glanced at the laptop screen out of the corner of his eye.

This "new" DVD wasn't new at all—rather, it wasn't _recent_. And not even simply last-year old. Washio remembered this game, because he'd watched it, too…back in _his_ first year. He was up in the stands somewhere, as was Shirofuku, because only the senior-most manager was allowed on the coach's bench during games. Onaga cleared his throat as the camera panned over the Fukurodani cheering section, and Washio thought he spied his younger self as well as the other current third years there in the seats.

"I…confess, research has been the last thing on my mind when watching these," Onaga explained, drawing Washio's attention back to him.

Washio snorted but managed to keep his retort to himself.

"It's just—I've enjoyed the footage of you on the court, Washio-senpai. From this year's matches that are still fresh memories in my mind, to your first year as a regular last year, even to your actual first year, in the club, as a Fukurodani student, when you weren't on the court and were a part of the cheering squad. I mean," he added quickly, and he blinked rapidly as he hoped to make himself understood, "I _did_ take some notes! A few. On one or two games. But… I get kind of lost looking for you on the screen. You're so incredibly cool and confident, and I was curious about what you were like before we met."

"I'm not that different."

Onaga chuckled. "You were smaller. But you're right. You're still cute." He sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Washio-senpai. And I shouldn't have let this get out of control. I just… I like you." He locked eyes with Washio and raised his thick eyebrows. He was sincere. "Can you forgive me?"

He'd been ready to forgive Onaga the moment he opened up. But it honestly was hard to concentrate with Onaga's face less than an inch from his. More so when a defined nose like Onaga's was so easy to follow right down to the small but happy smile gracing his lips.

Onaga seemed to grasp this, and he leaned closer.

At the last second, Washio got a hold of himself and turned his face, essentially ducking Onaga's apology kiss. Well, mostly. Onaga's kiss _did_ graze his cheek. But while it was one thing to be fine with Onaga standing up to him, it was another thing to let his kouhai see exactly how flustered he could make Washio. Flustered. Or maybe it was flattered. The two feelings seemed remarkably the same tonight. "I'll forgive you," Washio began with a quick pat of Onaga's head, "so long as you stop straining your eyes and giving yourself headaches over this nonsense."

Onaga sighed again but nodded. "I promise," he relented. He stood up then and stopped the DVD, closing his laptop and giving Washio the space to stand, too. "Oh, by the way, you can stay over after dinner, if you want, since my parents will probably want to talk your ears off until late—"

But Washio vigorously shook his head "no." Dinner would be bad enough with the memory replaying in his head of months ago when they confessed to each other after school and Onaga had first said those exact words— _"I just… I like you"_ —but staying over?

How the hell was Washio supposed to sleep when his heart might yet burst over how cute Onaga was?

Onaga _was_ a good guy. And a sweet boyfriend. And a natural rascal—ah, _charmer_ —without even knowing it.

\- ^-^3

 **XD Such a silly story! It tried to get all serious on me, but I knew from the beginning how this damn thing was supposed to go, and I ACTUALLY STUCK TO MY NOTES for the story for once! ;D The worst thing was trying to come up with a title—couldn't sleep because of it, which is frustrating bc titles tend to come to me easily. This** _ **was**_ **inspired by my own health, bc I get terrible headaches often—recently confirmed to be migraines. ;w; Unlike Onaga's pains, mine doesn't always have a reason for occurring (tho I've been known to strain my eyes and get behind on fluids and sleep as he did ;P). I once had a bad head cold, too, p much exactly as Washio describes his mum having when he was little; unfortunately that damn thing left me bedridden, ugh. ANYWAY, the point was to make Washio concerned (i.e., suffer :3c) and have it turn out to be over something relatively solvable? ONAGA, YOU MADE YOUR BOYFRIEND WORRY. But srsly. Onaga's thought process with the DVDs… It's TOO CUTE. My heart hurts now. And I keep laughing about the Washikono moments, too. Plastic wrap. XD**

 **Thanks for reading, and please review! Check out my other [** _ **HQ!**_ **] fics, too, if you liked this! You know where to find me if ya need more Washinaga and owls~**

 **-mew-tsubaki c:**


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